


Of slime and thorns

by gyunikum



Category: K-pop, VIXX
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Content, Tentacles, Wet Dream, not just some simple tentacles oh nope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 22:48:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7776682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gyunikum/pseuds/gyunikum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe Wonshik will stop dreaming about cacti and tentacles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of slime and thorns

**Author's Note:**

> Proceed/read with caution.

Wonshik stares at the plant, narrowing his eyes as if it helped him see even the smallest details better. The glint of the light reflects on the tiny orange porcelain vase and glares into Wonshik’s face until he tips his head to the side to get away from being blinded. His shadow fills up the green dips and ridges, so Wonshik shifts in his seat and leans onto his elbows on the desk.

He knows his nose is dangerously close to the tips of the yellow thorns, but he can’t stop staring at the cactus.

The _'d_ _amaged but adorable'_  tag lies next to the small vase— initially, it was his sister who bought the cactus, her heart bleeding for the little guy when she went to the market – plus it was on sale, so why not – but then a few days later she gave it to Wonshik when he visited her on his day off, saying that his room looked too barren without an ounce of greenery there, and surely Sanghyuk wouldn’t mind a little plus in their bedroom— it didn’t even require too much attention either anyway.

Wonshik wonders if the cactus will bloom before it meets its inevitable doom of completely drying out, because he will forget to water it after a few weeks, that’s for sure, and he hasn’t run into the maid the company hired some time ago to keep the place clean for when they are actually there, to ask her if she could take care of the cactus too.

His sister also gave him a spray bottle – _“just fill it with water and spray it once a week or something”_ – and she sounded sure when giving him the instructions, but Wonshik knows how many cacti she had had in her room when she was younger, how she always pestered their parents to buy her a new one because the one she currently had got moldy and gross, and she would take better care of the new one, only to let it die once again.

Wonshik’s childhood room back at home housed few dried up plants until his mother threw all of them out, never to be replaced— he never really minded the lack of green, too busy to pay attention to it.

Maybe he should take care of this one, if he has some time – which he never does – and then later he could get a pet, if things go well.

Wonshik follows a miniscule bead of water still clinging to one of the needles drop onto the soil, moist from when he sprayed a bit of water on it after he decided to sit down and stare at the plant while he was waiting for Sanghyuk to finish in the bathroom. It’s not like he doesn’t have other things to do, but after plopping down in his seat, he couldn’t get himself to stand back up— and watching the cactus feels pretty soothing, a sense of serenity loosening his tired muscles.

Maybe it’s the long motionlessness and a week’s worth of fatigue creeping up his limbs, but suddenly Wonshik feels a sharp prick on the tip of his nose, and he lets out a surprised yelp as he yanks his head away from the cactus, falling back into his chair and rolling away from the desk with the force of his surprise.

He rubs his sore nose, a soft tingling sensation lingering, and looks at the cactus suspiciously.

“Do I want to know why you’re trying to make that little fella combust into flames with your mind?” Sanghyuk’s sceptic voice speaks up, surprising Wonshik into turning around hurriedly.

“It prickled my nose,” Wonshik pouts, placing a hand over his nose.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have tried to kiss a cactus then,” Sanghyuk rolls his eyes as he bunches his used clothes into a ball and throws them into their laundry basket in the corner, imitating a basketball player’s posture. The ball of clothes goes in, and Sanghyuk does an over-the-top celebratory fist bump before grinning at Wonshik. “What?”

“I didn’t try to kiss it,” Wonshik mumbles with a frown, “and I wasn’t even that close to it.”

“Whatever floats your boat, hyung,” Sanghyuk shrugs, falling face first onto his bed with a groan. Wonshik crosses his legs as he watches Sanghyuk try to wriggle his lower half underneath the blanket, the curve of his butt smooth and clear in the white boxers he’s decided to wear, while Wonshik keeps pressing a fingertip to his nose absentmindedly.

A few quiet minutes pass, Sanghyuk settling down and staying motionless as Wonshik watches the rise of his back, deep in mind.

Was it his head that tipped forward? The cactus couldn’t have grown that one millimeter in that short time that separated the tip of Wonshik’s nose and the tip of the thorn.

Did he try to kiss it?

Or was it actually the cactus that tried to kiss him?

“Wonshikie,” Sanghyuk sing-songs in a muffled voice, and Wonshik hears the underlying threat in the familiar tone. “Are you done fantasizing about your cactus or are we gonna get a song dedicated to it next week?”

“Shut up,” Wonshik whisper-yells, grabbing a pillow from his own bed, and hurls it at Sanghyuk. The other lets out a surprised yelp when the pillow hits him on the back of his head, but he turns around laughing loudly.

“Go to sleep, hyung,” Sanghyuk grins, tossing the pillow back onto Wonshik’s bed, and Wonshik’s stomach squeezes at the sight of Sanghyuk’s crescent eyes smiling at him so brightly before the younger turns onto his side, his back facing Wonshik.

Wonshik sighs deeply and gets up to take a quick shower, mind already off the cactus— now it’s occupied by Sanghyuk, as it is most of the time, as it is always when they are in their bedroom, just the two of them.

He knows he shouldn’t do it, because Sanghyuk is still awake, and even though they’ve caught each other red-handed – all six of them – countless of times before, the topic nothing like a taboo but more of a Sunday conversation to them, Wonshik still feels a little bit embarrassed when he makes it so obvious to Sanghyuk that he’s jerking off in the shower.

At least they don’t know that it’s all Sanghyuk’s fault.

Suddenly the image of the cactus flashes in his mind, and Wonshik lets out an annoyed groan— the throbbing in his groin disappears in a moment, the orgasm he’s been building towards dispersing into a mist of regrets. Now he’s left with an awkward boner that doesn’t want to go away nor does it want to continue, so Wonshik lets his forehead knock against the wall of the shower and gets out before that fucking cactus could make everything worse.   

 

Things do get worse when Wonshik shifts in his sleep and a familiar sting prickles his inner thigh— he almost jumps out of the bed, instead rolling off the mattress, limbs tangled in his blankets.

Wonshik groans loudly and lets out a frustrated curse under his breath, hoping that he hasn’t waken Sanghyuk up. He listens quietly for a beat, and when he doesn’t hear any death threats coming from the complete darkness of the room, Wonshik exhales the breath he’s been holding back, before he unwraps himself clumsily and feels around for his phone to unlock it for a bit of light. He dims it quickly.

Turning the screen of his phone towards the bed, Wonshik almost drops it from within his grasp— the cactus is perched atop his bed, in the middle, just where his thighs were while he was sleeping.

Wonshik pinches himself, but he doesn’t wake up. The rate of his heart speeds up as confusion takes over the remaining sleepiness in him— he only slept a mere hour, clock standing at three in the morning, but the absurdity of the situation is too much to focus on his exhaustion.

How the hell did the cactus get in his bed?

Was it—

Han. Fucking. Sanghyuk.

Wonshik huffs in frustration and turns on the flash on the other side of the phone, directing the sharp white beam towards Sanghyuk’s part of the room for a revenge— only to discover that Sanghyuk’s bed is empty.

What the.

It’s not like Sanghyuk to avoid the consequences of the pranks he pulls— but maybe he’s locked himself in the bathroom and is giggling at Wonshik’s suffering now. Whatever.

Wonshik places his elbows onto the side of the bed, and looks at the cactus pointedly.

“Did he put you here?” he asks quietly, and then shakes his head— why is he talking to a fucking plant.

Setting the cactus on the far corner of the bedside table that he can’t reach from the bed, Wonshik settles back into the cocoon of his blanket, and tries not to think too hard on a proper revenge when he catches Sanghyuk in the morning.

The next time Wonshik wakes up is mid-turn, when his head lolls to the side, and the cactus prickles his lips, sending Wonshik to the edge of the bed, almost falling off again. He claps his hand to his face, a strange tingling sensation spreading in his lips, the other arm swinging backwards to search for the switch of the overhead lamp above the bed’s headrest.

Instead of finding the switch, something grabs his wrist in the darkness, and Wonshik cries out in surprise— a moment later he expects the lights to be turned on, Sanghyuk laughing in his face, but it doesn’t happen. The thing around his wrist tightens its hold, and whatever it is, it doesn’t let Wonshik pull his arm back no matter how hard he yanks at it.

“What the fuck,” Wonshik breathes as he wraps his fingers around his restraints, only for them to slip off with a layer of slime coating his skin.

Before anything, Wonshik throws his body around, his elbow twisting painfully, to reach the lamp with his other arm— the light flickers on, and the first thing Wonshik sees is a pitch black tentacle around him, glistening wetly.

The second thing he notices is Sanghyuk standing on the threshold between their bedroom and the bathroom adjacent to it— his arms melt into the darkness, but the lack of expression on his face is more horrifying than the slithering tentacles that Wonshik sees in his peripheral vision.

“Hyuk-ah, what—?” Wonshik asks in disbelief, his voice breaking. Another tentacle snakes out from under his bed, wrapping around Wonshik’s ankle as he tries to pull his legs up.

Sanghyuk doesn’t answer— he doesn’t move at all, nor does he move his arm in any way, yet the tentacles coil and snake around, and Wonshik’s mind fills the silence with quietly hissing, squelching sounds bleeding out of the invisible corners of their bedroom.

The darkness presses down on Wonshik’s chest, and the floor is hidden by a veil of black mist, the wisps of smoke growing into the tentacles, curling and twisting slowly in the air like fluid trees. Wonshik feels thinner tendrils slithering onto the white mattress, hooking around him, tying him to the bed, and when some of them snake under his underwear, Wonshik’s breath hitches, his heart skips a beat.

His head is swimming as a slimy tendril wraps around his soft cock, and two more circle around his upper thigh, right under his ass, pressing into his flesh— more of them hook around his shoulders and chest, slipping over his nipples.

He’s frozen in shock, unable to produce any words, as the tendril around his cock forms a spring across his whole length and begins to move up and down, tightening its hold gradually.

Sanghyuk then moves his arm, lifting it up, and Wonshik furrows his eyebrows when he sees that Sanghyuk is holding the cactus in his palm. He pulls his lips into a slight smile, and then crushes the vase with his fingers, soil squeezing through between them before he closes his fist around the small cactus itself.

A moment later, a confused and surprised cry is scared out of Wonshik when something prickles his thighs again, and when he looks away from Sanghyuk still squashing the plant, he notices thin yellow needles growing out of the black tentacles—

A shrill pain shoots into Wonshik’s groin, and blood rushes to his cock in some twisted way of pleasure when the tendril around his erection grows its own thorns, not stabbing him but just barely touching his skin. The sharp tips graze him on and off as it pumps him, and Wonshik doesn’t know what to think anymore, his brain going haywire as his senses are bombarded constantly.

The remnants of his rational part wants to resist; the hold around his body that is rapidly growing weak against the invasion, and the pleasure that keeps washing over him, like a tide, bringing hot flames and cold goosebumps with it, but no matter how hard he tries to break out of the strong hold, the appendages don’t let.

The other part of him tells him to relax.

Thorns prickle his most sensitive areas from head to toe, and the tentacles allow Wonshik to arch his back off the bed, only to slither under him and grab onto his underwear to pull it off him— as if they want him to watch how his cock looks like, and Wonshik sees it even though he shuts his eyelids tightly— he still sees the view of his cock, red and leaking already, constricted within a spiral of black as the tendril pulsates around him, a sheen layer of slime glinting in the dim light, its pointy tip playing around the head before it pushes in—

Wonshik cries out at the alien feeling, the sensation of something wriggling inside, but when something snaps his jaw closed, he can’t shut his lips as two tendrils slip into his mouth, curling around his tongue, down his throat without making him gag.

He looks at Sanghyuk pleadingly, and blinks at the twisted expression on Sanghyuk’s face in confusion— it seems as if Sanghyuk wants to step into the bedroom, but something is pushing against him, stopping him from passing the threshold, as if something was tying him to the bathroom. Sanghyuk looks Wonshik in the eye and stops abruptly, as if caught red-handed, and instead, whips his arm.

Not even a moment later the tentacles begin to undulate, slithering in a slightly more frenzied fashion, more and more limbs growing out of the black mist and covering the bed and Wonshik’s body.

When a tentacle, bit thicker than most of the tendrils slides into the cleft of his ass, and two others around his ankles spread his legs, his muscles straining, Wonshik prepares himself for the pain, his mind already knowing what’s going to happen— then the tip enters him fluidly, and it doesn’t hurt at all until Wonshik feels something shift inside of him, pressing down—

His orgasm strikes through his spine only to be stopped at the base of his cock, as if the tendril could sense his climax and squeezed him just the moment before Wonshik could come.

Wonshik cries out once again, voice muffled and throat flooded, and he whimpers in desperation as he tries to claw himself towards the release— the thorns all around keep prickling him, and his whole body throbs with the pace of his hammering heart. Silent screams fall off his lips as he writhes within his binds, body twisting and back arching, and the tendril up his ass keeps massaging that one spot, waves of pleasure crashing into him.

“P—please—” Wonshik chokes out, swallowing around the digits in his throat, and then, as if it was the magic word Sanghyuk was waiting for, the tendril releases his cock, and Wonshik comes with a half broken cry tearing through him. The tentacle helps him, pushing against Wonshik’s crotch as he thrusts into the spiral, milking him dry until the last drop.

 

Wonshik opens his eyes and lifts his head off the pillow, filling his lungs with fresh oxygen, feeling somewhat light-headed, either from the weirdness of his dream, or the fact that he was pressing his face so hard into his pillow that he couldn't breathe. His groin is still throbbing, and his pants are wet as are the sheets underneath him, and his muscles have turned into jelly as he resurfaces from his dream.

He releases a shaky breath as he hesitantly reaches for the switch, half-expecting the tentacles to be still there—

But they are not.

Sanghyuk is sleeping soundly in his own bed, having kicked off his blanket, now he's spread out on his bed, one arm hanging off the side, and Wonshik’s cactus is on the desk where he’s left it before he went to bed.

Fuck.

He shouldn’t have ventured too deep into Sanghyuk’s secret folders the other day and watched that anime porn with the tentacles. He really shouldn’t have.

Wonshik lets out a defeated sigh, burying his face into his sweaty palms— fantasizing about Sanghyuk has just taken a terrifying turn, and Wonshik is not sure if he should continue like this. Maybe he should confess to Sanghyuk finally – leaving out the snooping around his laptop and dreaming about him fucking Wonshik with tentacle arms parts, of course.

Then maybe he will stop dreaming about cacti and tentacles.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is the weirdest shit I ever wrote. And I have no idea why.


End file.
